Indian room and asking strange questions of Dr. Whitman.
The house became such a highway for every passing band that Dr. Whitman had to put up a stockade fence to keep them out. Sheets had to be hung to keep them from peeping through the windows and keyholes and crevices. They dug the moss out of the chinks to get a little glimpse of the mysterious chamber within, so much they wondered at this respectful care of a white wife in childbirth, when their own women at such a time were turned out of the lodge to live or die alone.
Every day the chiefs and headmen came to marvel at the baby that was not lashed to a tecast and yet did not fall to pieces. Indian women thronged the house continually to get a glimpse of the little stranger.
"She Cayuse terni, Cayuse girl," said Tiloukaikt, " born on Cayuse land."
"Yes, yes," laughed Dr. Whitman, "she is a Cayuse girl."
"Ugh-ugh! "grunted Tiloukaikt. "I not live long. I give all my land to her."
How she stole their hearts away, that little Cayuse girl! Every day she saw the dark faces around her. By and by she began to prattle in the Cayuse tongue.
"Ugh-ugh! Cayuse girl talk Cayuse." They were wild with joy. The chiefs would sit for hours teaching her Cayuse words.
Dr. McLoughlin sent up an orphan Indian girl to assist Mrs. Whitman. She became the baby's nurse. Mrs. Whitman's kitchen was full of little Indian children morning and night, learning to read and write and sing. At one year little Alice's size and strength astonished the Indians. She was as large and active as Indian babies two years old.
